


Devil's Due

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Demonic Possession, Infidelity, Major character death - Freeform, Other, Psychological Torture, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Violent Death, borrowed concepts from western religion, wow these are some fucked up tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Akaya doesn't think twice about selling his soul so Seiichi could live, even if they aren't together anymore. The road to eternal damnation is long, but it's nothing compared to that decision clinging to him for the rest of time.





	Devil's Due

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wildcard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildcard/gifts).



> This fic is really messed up and contains a lot of potentially triggering material, such as mutilation, prostitution, violence, infidelity, obsessive behavior, and warped reality. Please tread carefully.

Against the cold glass of the windows in the intensive care unit, Akaya’s face contorts into an ugly sob. A wretched sound rips from his throat, barely human in its timbre, yet he would scream down the walls of the entire hospital if it means he can drown out the flat drone of the heart monitor. Its patient is no longer able to shake its incessant whine.

A patient. Akaya knows it’s all these doctors and nurses see Yukimura Seiichi as, with a side of ‘it’s a shame to see it happen to someone so young’. They’ve all been preparing for this possibility. However, when the idea of his illness claiming him had gone from ‘possibility’ to ‘eventuality’, all that carefully cultivated pseudo-strength he has put forth for his ex-boyfriend’s benefit drains away like the color in Seiichi’s cheeks.

No longer able to stand, to think, to _exist,_ Akaya lets his knees slowly give way beneath him. The floor is just as cold as the glass, but it doesn’t matter. Everything warm in his life is gone. While he knows Seiichi would never have taken him back for a slew of very good reasons, the idea that he’ll never know for sure haunts him in ways that will never leave him.

Seiichi had been the first person Akaya ever truly loved, and now there is no one.

Fat, ugly tears roll down his face as prying eyes of staff members pass by him. They hardly spare him a passing glance, but here and there, one of the younger ones closer to his age who hasn’t completely shunted their humanity in favor of sanity in his place gives him a soft look of pity. That might actually be worse than indifference.

In the seconds/minutes/hours/whoknowsanymore Akaya sits there waiting to be swallowed by the floor, only one person stops to talk to him. Even if he isn’t interested, he has to admit that she is one of the more shapely women he’s ever met. She kneels on the floor next to him, her entire being cloaked in the lingering scent of sulfur, and a soft hand caresses his wet cheek.

“You poor thing.” She gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she tucks a finger under his chin so his bleary gaze meets hers. “Was he someone you loved?”

Akaya nods woodenly in her grasp. He soaks in the comfort of someone finally realizing the world — _his_ world — will never be the same. Things keep moving, keep plowing ahead without Seiichi and Akaya can’t fathom how that can be. Why would anyone want to exist without Seiichi? He knows he doesn’t.

“If only there was something you could do to bring him back,” she murmurs, her breath skating across his tear-streaked skin and making him shiver. “What would you do if you could?”

“Anything,” Akaya replies without hesitation.

She leans in closer, her arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders, and she touches her forehead against his. There is something strangely discomfiting about her touch, but it’s been so long since someone had even bothered to touch him that he accepts it anyway. “Seiichi used to do that,” he whispers.

“If only you could have him here again.” Her lips drift to the side to hover next to his ears. “I can do that if you want.”

Akaya reels back, eyes wide and itching from long-spent tears. “Don’t say stuff like that!” His voice cracks, and he swallows a knot of raw rage. “Nothing can bring him back! Why would you even —” He doesn’t finish that sentence; he can’t.

As he sags against the cold plaster walls, she sits next to him. “I really can. In fact, it would only cost you one thing. You probably wouldn’t even miss it.”

He sits up straighter and gapes at her. “What is it?”

“Your soul, darling.” She gives him a syrupy smile and stands, holding a hand out to Akaya to do the same. “Let me show you.”

Watching in bald curiosity his tired brain can’t quite fight off, Akaya gasps when Seiichi’s placid mask of death melts away and he draws a breath like a drowning man surfacing. The nurse in the room shrieks and staggers back, knocking over a tray of tools. Stainless steel rains to the floor, and Akaya doesn’t hear any of it. Seiichi is alive and breathing and it’s so much more than a miracle.

But as soon as it starts, it’s over, and Seiichi’s limbs hang limply on either side of the bed. Akaya’s chest is caving in on him, and his lungs scream for air that his windpipe refuses to supply. He meets her gaze with wide eyes. “Bring him back! Please!”

“Of course, love.” She steps behind him and forces him to look into the hospital room, at Seiichi’s lifeless form. “Are you willing to pay the price?”

“Yes.”

Akaya doesn’t know what his soul is like, whether he needs one or even has one. However, if that is the price, then it’s what he will pay. If she wants it in return for Seiichi’s life, then she can have it and then some.

Her arms wrap around him from behind, her chin perched on his shoulder. “You’ll have ten years. When that time is up, I’ll come to collect and you’ll die, but your Seiichi will live. Do we have an agreement?”

He nods, and her mouth descends on his for an uncomfortable kiss. Seiichi is the only person Akaya has ever kissed, and it had felt nothing like this. Though he can’t explain how, something has been sucked out of him with that liplock. There is no doubt whatsoever that he really will pay with his soul.

“Seal it with a kiss,” she hisses in his ear once she pulls away. “See you in ten years, Kirihara Akaya.”

Akaya barely hears her, though. His eyes are glued to the inside of the room, where dead monitors shriek back to life while Seiichi stirs in the bed. People in scrubs pour into the room, rapidly chattering and trying to figure out what the hell is going on. He doesn’t hear any of them. All he cares about is the clear, brilliant gaze meeting his through the window.

His head whips around to address his mysterious benefactor, to thank her with words he knows he doesn’t possess, but she is already gone. Her work is done, and in ten years, she will get her due.

But for now, Akaya will make the most of the time he has purchased for the price of eternity.

 

***

 

“It was strange,” Seiichi says, voice still hoarse from days of intubation. “I don’t know how I knew, but I knew I was dead. But then I wasn’t.”

Akaya gives him a pinched smile. “That’s crazy, but I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Akaya . . .” Seiichi closes his eyes and sinks into the pillows. “We broke up a year ago. You can’t say things like that. It isn’t appropriate.”

“I don’t care!” Hands shaking in his lap, Akaya rasps, “It killed me when I thought you were dead. I couldn’t even imagine the world without you.”

Seiichi chuckles and swats Akaya on the arm. “And people call me dramatic.” He sighs. “Even so, it’s good to see you. It always is.”

Hot tears prickle in Akaya’s irritated eyes, and he doesn’t care at all. “Please don’t leave me again, okay? I just want to —” The words nearly slip out, spilling his dark secret to the one person he never wants to know. “I’m not asking you to take me back. Just stick around, okay?”

Reaching over to snare one of Akaya’s hands with his, Seiichi says, “That was always the plan. It didn’t go how I wanted it to, but the journey is good if the destination is.”

They sit there in silence for what feels like hours and seconds all at once. Eventually, Seiichi drifts back to sleep along with the sunlight coming through the window. Akaya rests his cheek on Seiichi’s shoulder and soon follows. He’ll wake up with an aching neck and back, but his heart will be full.

  


It’s been a year since Seiichi’s miraculous recovery. Akaya visits him once a week because it’s all Seiichi will allow, but that’s all right. He’s well, he’s thriving, and he’s even playing tennis again on weekends because the work week no longer tires him so much.

These are the days Akaya visits, of course. They’re the ones when Seiichi is as full of life as he had been when they were stupid young middle schoolers. It’s hard to believe that had been over a decade ago.

The court is hot beneath his feet even through his shoes, the blistering summer sun glaring into his eyes along the summer evening horizon. It is easily the hottest day of the year, but Seiichi has never looked so lively. Light haloes the flyaways in his hair, and Akaya remembers an old moniker from ages ago. He really does glow like the Child of God.

Seiichi wins, as he tends to do the longer he has to rehab, and the two of them drift over to a nearby restaurant. The luster of life emanates from Seiichi’s entire being, a phenomenon that has nothing to do with the excellent food. The last time he can remember such an aura is back when —

“You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Chopsticks coming to rest on the rim of his bowl, Seiichi closes his eyes and sighs. “Yes, I am.” Like he always does, Seiichi absorbs the swarm of emotions on Akaya’s entire being and gives him a soft smile, no less warm than it’s ever been. That, Akaya thinks, might actually be worse .“We met up a few weeks ago, and I think it’s going somewhere. We’re both different people now, and I’d like to get to know him in different ways.”

“Wait, what? Now?” Akaya’s fingers strangle his chopsticks, and he feels the cheap bamboo groan under the stress. “You knew him before?”

A variety of faces race through his mind. Sanada-san? Yanagi-san? All the names that surface are people they both know, but it’s very likely it’s someone who Seiichi knows and Akaya does not.

Nodding, Seiichi says, “Yes, we knew him before, though not in a way you might expect. In fact, he’ll be joining us in a few — and there he is now.”

Dread coils in Akaya’s gut, and he doesn’t want to turn around to see who makes Seiichi’s entire being radiate warmth that used to be directed at him. He doesn’t have to, because the extra chair at the table pulls out, and a familiar specter who used to haunt his teenage self joins them for lunch.

“It’s good to see you again, Kirihara-kun,” Fuji Shuusuke says, beaming at Akaya in a way that he can’t tell how genuine it really is. It’s one of the reasons he hates Shuusuke. His mouth says one thing and his eyes say another, and Akaya can never tell which one is real.

However, he isn’t surprised at all that Seiichi finds him alluring. He always has loved a challenge, and life with Shuusuke would prove much like sleeping in a minefield. It looks like a harmless stretch of soft grass until you step wrong and blow yourself straight to hell. His knee still tingles at the memory of his first hard lesson on that front.

“Fuji-san,” Akaya says flatly, earning him an eye roll from Seiichi.

Shuusuke smiles a smile that is made of velvet and razorblades. “Seiichi tells me how well you’ve cared for him during his recovery. Your loyalty is commendable.”

Akaya scoffs. “You know he and I used to fuck, right?”

Seiichi tenses, but Shuusuke’s smile only grows wider. “Yes, I do. I assumed you still were, but I don’t mind sharing as long as everyone plays nice.”

“Yeah, well I do.” Dropping a handful of crumpled bills onto the table, Akaya leaves his seat before he says something that will lose Seiichi to him forever. “See you around.”

He barely makes it out the restaurant before hot, angry tears gush down his cheeks. Of all the people Seiichi can pick to replace him, Fuji fucking Shuusuke. He would even prefer Seiichi choosing the younger Fuji. At least he is a guy Akaya can understand and respect. Good but not too good, intense but not too much, polite but not the cloying kind like his brother.

 _Someone more like me_ , Akaya thinks while he palms the wetness dribbling from his chin. Nothing reminds him that they are no longer together more than that. When Seiichi chooses someone as categorically different from Akaya in so many ways, it can’t help but rankle the way it had when Seiichi had broken up with him two years before.

 _I care about you, Akaya._ That he has never doubted. _I just don’t want to date you anymore. It doesn’t work._ That might be the worst of all, knowing Seiichi loves him, but not like that.

When he gets back to his tiny rented room, a studio the size of Seiichi’s closet at home, he flings himself on his futon that no longer smells like Seiichi’s shampoo after a long night of fucking capped off with softness Akaya doesn’t want to think about Seiichi giving to anyone else. Of course, it’s all he can think about. The harder he tries to push it out of his mind, the more he trips and falls on his face right into it.

Later that evening, Seiichi texts him. _I don’t appreciate that display. That was rude, and you should apologize._

 _I won’t_ , he keys back. _I’m apparently not good enough for you._

_Don’t be ridiculous. It isn’t about you and me. It’s about him and me. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with him. We have a lot of shared interests. He doesn’t even hate it when we go to the botanical gardens. You never wanted to go, but it’s one of my favorite places. I went to your ridiculous superhero movies when you asked if we could._

Akaya bristles as he reads Seiichi’s laundry lists of perfectly valid reasons to leave him, but something stupid in petty inside of him that hates the person who has replaced him rears its head before he can stamp it down. _So I’m not good enough for you AND selfish. Fine. Whatever. I’ll leave you alone then._

Seiichi doesn’t answer and Akaya doesn’t expect him to. Silence is always Seiichi’s way of expressing his irritation. Nothing chills an average person to the bone more than feeling quiet wrath emanating from someone who looks sweet on the outside. Which makes Seiichi and Shuusuke a far more sensible match, though Akaya would rather bite off his own tongue than admit as much out loud.

He deletes the string of texts and throws his phone against the wall, wringing a brief moment of satisfaction as the back casing flies off and the battery pops out. At least some damn thing can suffer along with him. Akaya isn’t sure what he hates more: that the man he sold his soul for is in love with someone else, or that if given the choice to do over even with that knowledge, he’d do it again.

 

***

 

They don’t play tennis on Sundays anymore. Shuusuke has replaced him in that capacity, Akaya discovers after he ducks into a nearby cafe to watch the gates of Seiichi’s family home. The two of them spend the night together more and more often. After one such evening of someone else getting to absorb those rough, pleased sounds Seiichi makes when he’s turned on, the two of them head to the nearest bus stop and take the line that goes by the public courts.

The line _they_ used to take.

Here and there, Akaya watches them from afar, enjoying the life pouring out of Seiichi as he throws himself into his favorite sport. Shuusuke isn’t as good as he had been in high school, but he is more than capable of keeping up with Seiichi, of pushing him to his limits.

After a while, he can’t look anymore. Seiichi is happy without him, and it’s disgusting. He drops into the grass behind a line of shrubs and wraps his arms around his knees, face buried in their embrace. He doesn’t realize he is no longer alone until a shadow steals his one sliver of sunshine away.

“Kirihara-kun, I thought that was you.” Shuusuke’s voice is soft and pleasant, and Akaya knows for certain that this encounter is neither of those. “May I join you?”

Akaya doesn’t answer, and he gets an unwanted companion anyway. Shuusuke sits shoulder to shoulder with him and stares out across the well-kept soccer field. “Seiichi is worried about you.”

“No, he’s not,” Akaya spits, mouth curling into a sneer as he rests his chin on his knees. “If he did, he would call or text or something.”

“One could say the same for you.” Shuusuke quirks a brow, and Akaya swats down the urge to punch that expression right off his face. “It takes two to stop communicating.”

Akaya growls under his breath and grumbles, “Unfortunately. This conversation is annoying and so are you.”

Shuusuke chuckles next to him and sighs. “He loved you for a long time, even when you did things he didn’t like, but you finally pushed him too far. When we started seeing each other, he told me he would like to keep spending time with you, and I said it was fine. I’m well-adjusted enough to let my boyfriend talk to other guys and know he’s not being unfaithful.”

“That makes one of us.” Akaya pushes to his feet and kicks at a nearby clump of grass. “Why did it have to be _you_?”

That same shadow looms over his once more. “Is it so wrong for him to love someone else, Kirihara-kun, or would you rather him be miserable until he takes you back?”

“I —” Akaya’s jaw snaps shut when he realizes that is exactly what he wants. He had always assumed that after a while, Seiichi would come back to him and they would spend the rest of the time Akaya has left (less than nine years now) together. “Go to hell, Fuji.”

Clapping Akaya on the shoulder, Shuusuke whispers next to his ear, “You first.”

Just as quickly as his solitude had ended, it begins anew. He’s shivering from head to toe because those words would prove to be prophetic soon, and Akaya thinks he might have received his first glimpse of the torture eternity has waiting for him. And the picture he stores in his mind of the devil starts to look a lot like Fuji Shuusuke.

 

***

 

Akaya stops watching Seiichi’s house, hoping contact would ease the ache. It doesn’t, but at least he doesn’t have to watch that smug prick put his hands all over Seiichi in real life. He sees enough of it in his imagination.

The part of it he hates the most is that when he does think about the two of them fucking, it turns him on and there’s no one but himself to alleviate that knot of desire coiled inside of him. His grip on his hard cock is brutal as he forces himself to orgasm. Seiichi’s touch had never been anything but teasing and deliberate. Maybe that’s why he does it. The pain reminds him of no one in particular, an old friend who has never abandoned him. Pain remembers exactly who he is, and it treats him no differently from day to day.

Perhaps that very notion is what makes him seek out more of it. Escorts are easy enough to find in Tokyo, though pretty ones with dark wavy hair and arresting purple eyes are in short supply. Here and there, he’ll find one who reminds him of Seiichi if he drinks enough, and he demands to be fucked until he bleeds. Only a few of them ever say no because he pays up front.

The hole is still there, though. No amount of harsh fucking until he can barely crawl into work the next day can beat the life back into him, yet he spends almost every spare yen he has to try anyway. Here and there, he’ll even save up for a bonus round, where whatever prostitute he finds who looks anything like Shuusuke has to watch his preferred one who looks like Seiichi fuck him into the mattress.

More than two years drag by in this fashion, a maelstrom of hate and regret and pleasure that doesn’t feel good at all. His go-to substitute for Seiichi stops accepting his business after a while, telling him he needs to get help. Akaya breaks another phone. Why can’t people mind their own business? He _is_ getting the help he wants.

He’s behind in his rent, and his pantry is full of instant noodles and plain rice. He can’t afford anything else, with his paychecks going almost directly to his efforts to fuck away his memories of Seiichi. That only stops when he misses one too many days of work to sleep off a haze of liquor and not being able to sit down.

Cold, hungry, and sure he looks even more pathetic than he feels, Akaya blows a stranger in an alley for a hot meal. He doesn’t look anything like Seiichi, and it’s even more disgusting than he imagined it would be. But when that same stranger offers him a place to sleep for the night if he finishes the job, he does it anyway.

It’s startlingly easy to fall into a life like this, going from living to fuck to fucking to live in just a few short months. He is numb to it now, all the pleasured sounds he makes manufactured for the sake of a few hundred extra yen from his clients. There has not been a single act asked of him that he has refused, earning him an agonizing bus ride to the emergency room after one particularly sadistic customer stuffed three sizeable toys up his ass until his insides gave out.

The hospital is a horrible place, one tangled with reminders of giving his soul away to save someone who doesn’t love him anymore, so he curbs that behavior from that point forward. He’ll take a beating and he’ll be fucked until he can’t walk, but that’s the line. The next time he goes to a hospital, it had better be to die. He finds that he has an unfortunate capacity for survival.

Pulling out of a drug-induced sleep, Akaya squints against the sunlight pouring in through the open curtains and, to no one in particular, he croaks, “Close the damn curtains.”

“No,” comes a soft voice that is so, so familiar that he will never forget it.

Limp hand listing toward the source, Akaya rasps, “Seiichi.”

“Yes, it’s me.” He takes Akaya’s hand. “The hospital called me after you were admitted. They had me on file as your emergency contact from the time you were here for your broken toe.”

“Oh.” Of course Seiichi is only here because of something like that. He would never keep track of Akaya’s comings and goings. That would involve caring enough to do so, which Shuusuke would never let him do. “You didn’t have to come.”

He opens his eyes in time to catch Seiichi rolling his eyes. “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Akaya squeezes his eyes shut, but the sun still blares through the heavy lids. “Does _he_ know you’re here?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Since when has anyone ever gotten away with telling me what to do?” Seiichi squeezes Akaya’s hand. “I updated your personal information at the front desk when I checked in, by the way.”

With a snort, Akaya says, “How? You don’t even know me anymore.”

Seiichi raises a brow. “Oh, so you’re _not_ whoring yourself out like a common hooker?” When Akaya wheezes in surprise at the bald statement, Seiichi leans back in his bedside chair, hand dropping away from Akaya’s. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

Akaya sags into the bedding and sighs. “It’s not what you think. I just —” His shoulders begin to shake, and he tosses an arm over his face to muffle what he knows is going to be a sob. The gentle fingers that card through his hair only make it worse.

He’s pathetic, and both of them know it.

“What do you need?”

Through wide, itching eyes, Akaya gapes at Seiichi. “What do you mean?”

The hand coursing through his hair drifts down to trace the stubbled curve of his unkempt jaw. “What I mean is for you to tell me what you need in order to stop this nonsense. If you liked it, you wouldn’t be so ashamed right now. If you don’t like it, then let me help you get out of it.”

“I —” Akaya’s voice breaks, and his palm comes to rest over Seiichi’s delicate touch. “Why are you helping me?”

Seiichi laughs, his mouth easing into a smile. “You’re cute when you’re stupid, Akaya.” He thumbs away a stray tear from Akaya’s cheek. “Just because we don’t date anymore doesn’t mean I can’t still love you. It just means we don’t date anymore.”

Akaya wants to demand Seiichi tell him what Shuusuke thinks of all this, how his current boyfriend feels about him consorting with his filthy slut of an ex, but he doesn’t. He can’t find words to convey that as long as he hasn’t lost Seiichi forever, he can die in four years a happy man.

The Yukimura residence is a large one, with Seiichi’s father having some impressive-sounding job in an important-sounding company. There are a couple of spare rooms in the house — one used for a hobby room and the other for storage for out of season wardrobes — and Akaya finds himself dwelling in the latter. A simple foldaway bed lies in wait for him as he thumps through the house on crutches, still not able to hold up his own weight.

“It’s not much, but it’s the first thing I could come up with on short notice.” Seiichi smooths away imaginary creases from the covers and pats the bed. “I’ll work on finding something more permanent, but this should do for now.”

The crutches drop from under his arms, and he embraces Seiichi with everything he has. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

With that, Seiichi helps him down onto the mattress and tucks the blankets over him. “I have a meeting at work in an hour, so I have to go, but someone will come in and check up on you every half hour. If you need something, let them know.”

 _All I need is you,_ he almost says, but instead, Akaya nods and watches Seiichi leave the room clad in a well-cut suit that says his job is as important-sounding as his father’s.

True to promise, the Yukimuras’ housekeeper Haruka comes in every half hour like clockwork to inquire about his needs, and a home nurse at least twice Akaya’s size arrives in the afternoon to tend to his medical needs, lifting him up like he’s a rag doll but also delicately. He isn’t sure it’s because the woman is strong or because Akaya has dropped about ten kilos since he lost his job and apartment. Maybe both.

The days crawl by in similar fashion, doused in a haze of painkillers and a parade of people tending to him as if they have nothing better to do. He says as much to Haruka, who swats him on the shoulder for it.

“Don’t be silly, Kirihara-kun.” Haruka pats his cheek. “Sei-chan wouldn’t care about you if you weren’t worth it. Just do us both a favor and take better care of yourself. He’s been very worried about you.”

Akaya blinks in surprise. “He has? I haven’t even heard from him in years until he showed up at the hospital.”

She smacks him again. “He always has. And Shuu-kun, to his credit, never tries to make him stop. But if I were you, I would try a little less hard to give him reasons to.”

He wonders if she knows the circumstances of his convalescence but opts not to ask. If she does, she shows no signs of it. If she doesn’t, then he has no desire to add another person to the long list of those who have every right to dance on his grave when he dies.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Haruka leaves him alone with his racing thoughts.

It takes months before Akaya is well enough to get around on his own without the aid of painkillers, but he is never alone. Even Shuusuke sometimes comes to sit with him, filling him in on their mutual acquaintances from the old U17 camp or watching daytime television or even teaching him how to play chess. As much as the idea rankles, Akaya can see why Seiichi gets along so well with Shuusuke. They’re definitely more suited to each other than he had ever been with Akaya.

Six months later, Akaya is declared as physically fit as he’s going to be with that level of damage to his body, and most of the weight he lost has filled back in. A small apartment resting over the garage is his for as long as he needs it, and he will start paying a very reasonable rent once he finds a new job.

Akaya has no intention of taking the offer, but Seiichi doesn’t need to know that.

He finds a crappy job working the night shift at a convenience store, filling the shelves while the customer base is at its thinnest. His body protests every time he lifts more than ten or fifteen kilos, but he never complains. That agony is his due for his foolish behavior. It reminds him every second of how it’s for the best that Seiichi go on living and Akaya dies instead. And to date, nobody else knows of his secret other than the pretty demon who had sold him the arrangement. He aims to keep it that way.

Once he has enough key money to rent a shitty room, Akaya takes the few things he owns and slips out of the Yukimura residence in the dead of night. Seiichi wouldn’t let him leave otherwise. When he has enough for a cheap prepaid phone, Akaya will apologize through a text. He isn’t sure he’s brave enough to do it face to face.

Seiichi seems to be unsurprised by his departure, even if he wishes otherwise, and Akaya goes on living on his own unobstructed.

They can’t play tennis anymore — or, rather, Akaya can’t — but Sundays are once again theirs. Seiichi talks about his job and his art and even his relationship with Shuusuke, and Akaya absorbs it all greedily. Nothing about his own life is remotely interesting, but Seiichi listens nonetheless.

After a couple of years, Akaya doesn’t even dig his fingers into his thigh when Seiichi mentions something he and Shuusuke had done. Their co-adventures with art and photography actually begin to interest him.

When the last half of his final year rolls around, it’s almost surreal. Akaya knows what the end will entail, yet the thought of it doesn’t disturb him. After all, these are ten years he gets with Seiichi that he would have missed.

Shuusuke is a full time photographer now, and one evening, Akaya finds himself overdressed at a snazzy gallery presentation. The walls of the strategically lit room are littered with photographs. However, Akaya’s favorites were definitely the series for which Seiichi had modeled. No matter the angle, Seiichi’s innate beauty shines through each shot.

As he looks on, Akaya senses someone walking up next to him. “They’re striking, aren’t they?”

It’s been nearly ten years, but Akaya will never forget that voice. “I still have a week.”

“You do, of course.” The demon flashes him a grin and blood red eyes before turning back to the pictures. “I just wanted to make sure you’re making the best of your deal.”

His hands ball into fists at his sides, and he grits his teeth to keep from drawing attention to either of them. “Why do you care?” he hisses. “You get your payment either way.”

She pouts at him. “So rude, Akaya-kun. And here I am, looking out for you. So ungrateful.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need your help to do that.” He closes his eyes and counts to ten. After spending half his life with issues controlling his outward emotions, it’s taken a long time to cultivate a filter. However, his filter is being tested by the looming specter of his final handful of days.

With a chuckle, she runs her long fake nails down the line of his jaw. “See you soon, love. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

And finally, he’s alone in body, but this carefully structured peace of mind is dribbling out of his ears like steam. Seiichi soon joins him and gives him a wolfish smile. “So who is your lady friend?”

“Nobody.” His voice is far more even than the rest of him is. “She was just asking if I had any plans in a week or so. I said I was busy.”

“Oh?” Seiichi loops his arm with Akaya’s and leans against his shoulder. “You should get out there more. I know you don’t like being alone as much as I know you are.”

Akaya tucks Seiichi’s arm closer and sighs. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not interested in anyone else.” When Seiichi quirks a brow, Akaya gives him a cockeyed grin. “Hey, I can play nice. I’m not going to steal you from Fuji. He’s good for you.”

Seiichi’s shoulders relax. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I always worried that you’d snap and try to strangle him someday.”

“Your boyfriend is safe from me, I promise.” They stand there, taking in the display in companionable silence. Seiichi eventually drags him along to peruse the rest of the photographs.

In a center of a horde of well-to-do middle aged women, Shuusuke hails them over. In a second, Seiichi’s warmth at his side is gone, and Akaya feels the absence immediately.

His statement earlier had been half true; he isn’t interested in anyone else, but he most certainly misses Seiichi. And he won’t try to win Seiichi back, even if he does want to.

“Thank you for supporting my work,” Shuusuke says to his affluent housewives, walking away to a chorus of sighs. Women always have loved him. When they’re far enough away, the plastic quality of Shuusuke’s smile drops away. “I appreciate the save. Are you enjoying the displays?”

Seiichi and Shuusuke launch into artist shop talk, and Akaya tunes it out. His attention is wrapped up in the soft curve of Seiichi’s lips, his statuesque face, his regal posture from a lifetime of social breeding. He is beautiful in all the ways Akaya isn’t, but that has never mattered to them.

He doesn’t realize someone is addressing him until a gentle hand shakes his shoulder. “Akaya, are you all right?” His gaze unclouds and Shuusuke is there, with Seiichi heading in the direction of the gallery’s bathrooms.

“Yeah,” he breathes, shunting off his reverie. “Sorry I spaced out.”

Shuusuke pats his arm. “Not at all. Come, walk with me.”

They wend their way through the displays until they pass through the sliding glass doors, which lead out into a small courtyard. Few people are there, as the night is a cool one, but Akaya doesn’t mind the brisk air. What does make him uneasy is being trapped in isolation with Shuusuke.

“I’m not going to eat you,” Shuusuke scolds, and Akaya grimaces. “It isn’t my thing.”

“So you say.” Akaya wheezes out a nervous chuckle. “The show is really good. It seems like you really understand what makes people interesting.”

Stopping in the middle of the winding stone path, Shuusuke fixes him with a stare that makes him shiver. “It’s fascinating what people will do for love, don’t you think? People would sell their souls for it, but is the price a fair one?”

“Yes.” Akaya doesn't hesitate. “If it isn’t worth it, it isn’t love.”

Shuusuke shakes his head. “I don’t agree. I think the purest form of love is doing what is best for the people you care most about, even when it hurts or the end isn’t what you wish it was.” His fingers drag down his chin in thought. “Yuuta was never happy until he got to stand on his own. I never wanted him to leave, but it was better for him and I don’t regret it.”

This conversation straying into uncomfortably familiar territory, Akaya cuts it off with a blunt, “What are you getting at?”

Akaya stumbles back when Shuusuke’s eyes flash red. “Just testing the waters.” His head tilts back, and a cloud of thick black smoke courses from Shuusuke’s mouth. Akaya just manages to catch him before he drops onto the walkway.

“Well that was horrible.” Shuusuke’s nose wrinkles in distaste, and he coughs out little puffs of yellow powder.

Once he finally regains his breath, Shuusuke’s eyes meet his. “Oh, Akaya.”

“I don’t regret it.” He glances back toward the building, and he sees Seiichi searching for one or both of them. “I would do it again even without ten years.”

Shuusuke’s smile is a genuine one, something Akaya is never prepared for. “You’re a very complex person. I’m glad I’ve had the chance to know you better.” They head back for the building, but before they re-enter, Shuusuke asks, “Are you going to tell him?”

“No.”

Nodding, Shuusuke hums. “I thought as much. Seiichi would most certainly march down into hell and scare the pants off of the devil himself if it meant keeping you with him. While I’d love to see from a pure amusement standpoint, as his husband, I’d rather not.”

Akaya can’t help but agree, and they forge on ahead.

Inside, Seiichi spots them right away. “How rude, leaving me alone.”

“Sorry, dear.” Shuusuke pecks Seiichi on the cheek, the scene disgustingly sweet and everything Seiichi deserves out of life. “I just needed to impose on Akaya for a favor.”

“Oh?”

“Since I have a short tour to do, you’ll be home alone for a week.” Shuusuke gives Akaya a sharp look. “I would feel better if Akaya came and stayed with you while I’m gone.”

Seiichi waves a hand. “That really isn’t necessary. Akaya probably has better things to do.”

“Nothing I’d rather be doing,” Akaya says, and his eyes meet Seiichi’s. “I’ll come over tomorrow morning.”

Familiar fingers thread with his. “I’d like that.”

Soon after, the gathering disperses, and Akaya spends most of the rest of his night determining what of his worldly possessions he wants with him for the rest of his life. Besides whatever clothing and toiletries he will need for a week, the only thing that comes to mind is a well worn photograph of their old middle school team.

His eyes had been bright and lively then, much to Renji-senpai’s chagrin, and those eyes had always been on Seiichi. Even back then, Seiichi was the center of his world. As he counts down his last handful of days, Akaya finds that not much has changed.

Akaya arrives with a small duffel bag, slipping into the door the way he always does. In the living room, he finds Seiichi glaring at a canvas, smudges of paint on his smock. “This is the wrong blue,” he mumbles, swirling his brush into a couple of colors and blending them together. “You are supposed to be cerulean.”

Even though he’s known Seiichi for more than half his life, Akaya never gets tired of watching him work. Whether it’s painting or tennis or even lazily sipping at a glass of wine, everything he does is art and Akaya can watch it all day.

It’s almost ten minutes before Seiichi notices his presence. “Oh! You should have told me you were here. I was just killing time.”

For the first time, Akaya gets a good look at the piece Seiichi is working on and gasps. “It’s beautiful.” Beauty isn’t quite a strong enough descriptor for the image, a stunning rendition of an angel reaching down from the heavens to latch hands with a wretched man below.

“Thank you.” Seiichi scratches at his chin with the tip of his paintbrush handle and frowns. “Is it too blue?”

Akaya shakes his head. “I think it’s perfect.” HIs bag drops to the floor next to his feet and he peruses the painting in closer detail. “Where did you even get the idea for this?”

“At the gallery, actually.” Scrubbing stray flecks of paint from his hands, Seiichi turns to Akaya with a broad smile. “There was a woman there who was taken by one of Shuusuke’s photos, and listening to her talk about the irony of salvation gave me an idea.”

“What?” Akaya chokes, almost completely sure he knows exactly what woman Seiichi is referring to.

Seiichi peels off his smock and drapes it over a nearby wooden chair. “You know, how there are no selfless acts if eternity hangs in the balance, and how the purest state is being the one in need of saving.”

Akaya shrugs. “I, uh, never really thought about it,” he says truthfully. “Does anyone really save anyone in the end?”

Brows knitting in thought, Seiichi chuckles. “I suppose you’re right. We all end up dead when everything is said and done, don’t we?”

Hand tightening around the strap of his bag, Akaya rasps, “Yeah, we do.” His thoughts are vaulted to that day nearly ten years ago, watching Seiichi’s lifeless form to a chorus of whining monitors. He would’ve done anything to make it stop, and he did just that.

Yet as he watches the clock crawl along on his last week, Akaya would do anything to stay. Even though Seiichi will never be his again, he will always be Seiichi’s. When his soul is wrenched down to hell, the best part of him will live on falling asleep next to Fuji Shuusuke every night.

His last days are marked by how unremarkable they are. They eat breakfast, they chat about Seiichi’s projects he’s planning (with Akaya avoiding mentioning any plans of his own that he doesn’t have), and just pass time doing nothing while in the same room. Akaya can’t think of a better way to spend the rest of his time.

Akaya’s final night comes far too quickly, and in the face of forever, Akaya finds himself bolder than he has been in a long time. After an unhurried meal of sushi from a good restaurant nearby, Akaya holds out a hand to Seiichi and gives him a lopsided smile. “Dance with me.”

Seiichi’s eyes widen. “What? You hate dancing.”

“Nah.” Akaya tugs Seiichi to his feet, and for the first time in a very long time, they’re breathing the same air in the very same moment. “Just not around other people. It’s fine if it’s just you and me.”

They list across the room enough for Akaya to swat the stereo to life, and the peal of Seiichi’s favorite piano music disc fills the air. Light from an artsy lamp in the corner haloes Seiichi’s neatly tied back hair. It’s fitting that his final moments are winding down with an angel, just before the the devil comes for his due.

“You look like you’re thinking more than usual.” Seiichi’s voice is tinged with amusement, and Akaya cherishes the sight.

“Nope. Just having a good night.”

“Good.” Seiichi takes the lead, his feet far more coached in the art of dance, and Akaya just tries not to bludgeon any toes. They do all right, twirling together through more than half of the disc until Seiichi begs off for a drink. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

Akaya eases down onto the couch next to Seiichi and accepts the proffered glass of wine. He doesn’t particularly care for wine, but the subtle tingle of malaise it brings is welcome for the evening. “I missed this about us. I might’ve said and done a lot of stupid shit, but sometimes I like to imagine that you remember moments like these and think it was all worth it. At least a little bit.”

Seiichi raises his glass. “Always.”

The bottle of wine whittles down, and the two of them nudge a little closer together with every refill. Everything he has ever wanted is on the seat next to him, but Akaya can’t make himself reach out and take it. He doesn’t want Seiichi’s last memory of him to be regret. No matter how many times Shuusuke hints that it is fine with him, Akaya isn’t inclined to proposition someone else’s spouse no matter how much he misses being utterly subjugated by the Child of God.

He doesn’t have to. After the last drop of wine empties from Seiichi’s glass, Akaya’s lap is full of aggressive hands that know exactly what they want. Lips trail down his shoulder, teeth lightly grazing in their wake, and the room tilts for Akaya — a sensation that has nothing to do with alcohol.

Fingers that used to routinely pluck pleasure out of him like flowers from a garden find all of those old hidden spots that makes Akaya’s vision blur. Hips grind against his, the prominent bulge of Seiichi’s hard cock dragging against his own. And when their mouths meet in the middle for a smoldering kiss, Seiichi fists his hands in Akaya’s hair to crush them together with delicate force Akaya has chased since Seiichi left him but has never been able to find.

It takes every scrap of will he has to wrench himself away. “Wait,” Akaya wheezes. “This isn’t right.”

“Yes it is.” Seiichi traces the shell of Akaya’s ear with his tongue, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. “Shuusuke suggested I indulge myself while he’s gone, and I really do miss you, Akaya. So here I am, indulging”

His wherewithal to resist shrinks by the second, and once it’s finally gone, Akaya wraps his arms around Seiichi’s waist and growls, “Hell yeah.”

Moments later, Akaya is sprawled over the arm of the couch, face smashed into the cushions while Seiichi powers into him at a brisk clip. Tears trickle down Akaya’s face — both because he had been warned off of rough sex by the doctor who had stitched him back together after his ordeal and now he’s paying the price for ignoring that directive, and because it’s been more than a decade since that empty space in his gut has ever felt full.

Doctor’s orders be damned. His last night on earth could not be better.

Sated limbs tangle together on the couch, and Akaya soaks in the painfully familiar scent of Seiichi’s lavender body wash tinged with sex and sweat. There are about eight hours now. He’ll never forget the moment his entire life changed. It was four thirty in the morning — nine years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, sixteen hours, and (if the clock on the wall is correct) seven minutes have passed since then.

He doesn’t want to miss a moment, but the heady lull of satisfaction is already dragging down his eyelids. Seiichi is already quietly dozing underneath him, his entire being radiating peace and comfort. Akaya thinks sleep might not be a terrible way to go, after all.

When Akaya’s eyes crack open, the entire room is dark save for a meager amount of light streaming in through the windows from the nearby streetlamps. Seiichi’s skin glows from the scant illumination, but Akaya hardly spares it a second glance until he looks up at the clock on the wall. Just a bit after three. He has an hour and a handful of minutes before eternity in hell comes to take him away, and the ten years he has spent resigning himself to the fact evaporate.

Akaya carefully extracts himself from Seiichi’s embrace, and he pads over to the window to eschew those dangerous thoughts. A deal is a deal, and no matter how much Akaya wants to stay to fall into Seiichi’s orbit over and over with nothing to show for it except a stupid crush that will live longer than he does, he can’t afford to renege. If he balks on his end of the bargain, they’ll both probably die a terrible death.

Forehead pressed to the cold glass like it had all those years ago, Akaya lets it hold him up while he empties his churning emotions with the tears drizzling down his face.

A strange silhouette lingers in the darkened reaches of the lawn, and Akaya knows what it is, _who_ it is. His terrible suspicion is confirmed when _she_ saunters from the shadows. At her side, a large snarling hound eyes him with hunger. If he had any questions about how he is going to die, he doesn’t now.

Uncaring of his scant state of dress, only in boxers after their sweaty romp earlier, Akaya slips out into the garden and meets his fate head on. “You’re early.”

“Not early, Akaya-kun.” She gives him a greasy smile. “Just prepared. It’s been a while since I’ve looked forward to collecting on a contract as much as I do right now.”

“You’re one twisted bitch, you know that?” Akaya clenches his jaw at the thought of his eternal fate being a source of amusement for some demon who is probably d-list at best. “What you do is sick, trading souls for things people can’t say no to, but you know what? I don’t regret it because he’s worth a thousand of me.”

She quirks a brow and chortles. “You’re probably right, but there is no price tag on the sheer enjoyment I’ll get when Seiichi-kun’s husband comes home and finds out two were fucking and he lets out that secret he said he wouldn’t just to spite you in death.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Akaya hisses. “Fuji is fine with it.”

“Is he, though?” She saunters over to him and drags a knuckle down the line of his jaw, lips hovering a hair’s breadth away from his as she whispers, “I’ve been inside his head.”

With a pat on the cheek, she adds, “You’re right that he doesn’t dislike you. What you’re wrong about is that he’s okay with you hovering around his man, and he isn’t sure what makes him more uncomfortable: you obviously still being in love with Seiichi-kun, or that Seiichi-kun indulges you just enough to make it a legitimate threat. It makes him uneasy, and he doesn’t like being uneasy.”

Akaya shakes his head, eyes screwed shut hard enough that he can almost convince himself of his own words if he doesn’t look at the derision on her face. “You’re wrong. You’re just saying that to screw with me.”

“Ha!” Akaya can hear the creak of the nearby wooden swing as she sits on it. “I don’t need to screw with you. You’ve provided me with more than enough entertainment all by yourself. Even I couldn’t have imagined you’d whore yourself out to feel things again. It’s all so cliche. You’re like a walking Harlequin plot.”

His hands ball into fists at his sides, and his eyes fix on her, a long forgotten wave of heated rage simmering over. “You don’t know anything about me, no matter what you think you’ve seen.” A few long strides find him looming over her smirking face, and his fingers wrap around her throat, thumb pressing hard into the slight swell of her windpipe. “You’ve got your devil, and I’ve got mine. If you’re not going to hold up your end of the bargain, I’ll end it and you along with it.”

She feigns horror and gives an exaggerated whine. “Oh, please don’t kill my meat suit. Then I’ll have to find some other hapless shmuck to take over, and your precious Seiichi-kun will have a dead girl on his lawn.”

Akaya shoves her away roughly and stalks back toward the house, eyes trained on anything but the monstrous beast at her feet. “I’ll be out when it’s time and not a minute earlier.”

Inside, the sound of her laughter drains away, even if the shiver it elicits doesn’t quite stop when he no longer hears it. Everything else stops, however, when he sees Seiichi, still draped on the couch and serene. This is why he’s doing it, and he wouldn’t do it differently if someone gave him the choice. He has plenty of regrets about his life, but this is the one decision of his he will never second-guess as his soul is shredded time and time again by demons.

Yet there is one thing he wants more than anything, and for that, he kneels down next to Seiichi and steals one final kiss. “Don’t forget me, okay.”

Seiichi stirs but doesn’t wake, and Akaya sighs in relief as he steals into Shuusuke’s office, where various photos hang finished and waiting to be pulled down for framing (or whatever the hell else one does with artsy photography). He swallows hard when he sees one of Seiichi, his slender fingers carefully cupping a rose with closed eyes and a soft smile illuminating his face. Seiichi has always been Shuusuke’s best and favorite subject to capture, and Akaya doesn’t have to think hard to see why.

At the desk, Akaya finds a notepad and a pen. He scribbles out a note, reiterating to Shuusuke to do everything he can to keep Seiichi from finding out the truth like he had promised. He also jots down an awkward thank you for his support, the words strange and itchy mere hours after a rough bout of fucking with the guy’s husband.

As he tucks the note into the top drawer of the desk, Akaya can’t help but think Shuusuke somehow already knows but is allowing it to happen. It’s something Akaya could never permit were he in the same situation, but nothing is usual about Fuji Shuusuke.

With that, he leaves the house for the final time and heads down the street. He’ll be damned if he’s going to leave his mangled corpse for Seiichi to find in the morning. Instead, he stops in an alley behind a nearby crappy bar and sits on an old wooden crate in wait. “You want me, you can come and get me, you asshole.”

Akaya isn’t wearing a watch, but he just _knows_ when it’s time. His entire skin tingles with static unease, and the sound of snarls lurks on the gentle breeze.

And she is there, right on the money. There are no quips or sassy turns of phrase — just a rigid cloak of finality. She raises her hand and points toward him, and the hound bounds toward Akaya. Claws like knives rent his flesh, and Akaya can feel his guts spilling onto the dirty alley pavement before everything turns black.

He didn’t think it would be so pleasantly warm, dying, but it is. It’s dark and comforting as it embraces him, almost like what he would imagine being back in the womb is like. However, that sensation quickly evacuates when a great maw gnashes its teeth into his . . . something and drags him away.

The heat is not so comfortable now. It’s not the regular kind of heat that fire produces, but rather a burning cold that scorches his skin and makes his scream. Maybe he’s the one who is screaming.

The demon’s hound deposits him in a filthy cell, body and clothes no longer shredded. That must be part of the torture. Physical pain is something one can focus on to fight off psychological anguish. He’ll have no such luxury here.

Akaya stares off into space, waiting for his torture to manifest itself. By the time he’s almost ready to go hunt down some random demon passing by to get this damn thing started already, it begins.

It isn’t Seiichi, Akaya knows that somewhere in his screeching brain, but his smell and his smile and his _presence_ all feel incredibly genuine. However, a few things are startlingly different. Seiichi’s skin is pale, lacking its usual silken texture, and blood drizzles from his wrists, scored by the silver letter opener still in his grasp.

“Why did you leave me, Akaya?” comes Seiichi’s voice, ripe with pain that Akaya doesn’t want to associate with his ex lover at all.

“I couldn’t live without you,” he explains to the shade, who is definitely not Seiichi, but he can’t stop the words from pouring out. “You would’ve died, and I couldn’t deal with that. I’d do it again, too. Just live your life with Fuji and remember the way you used to love me. Forget the rest of it.”

The false Seiichi holds up his hands, looking from one sliced wrist to the other. “I thought you were ashamed of being with me, and it broke my heart. Shuusuke will come home and find me like this.” The letter opener clatters to the stone floor of the cell, and the doppelganger smirks at Akaya. “Maybe he’ll sell his soul for me, too.”

Akaya’s throat constricts, and his ears start ringing. So this is hell. It isn’t all fire and brimstone and being ripped apart by demons; it’s seeing something that looks just real enough to be disturbing, and he will never get to know what is true and what is cobbled together purely for the sake of torment.

Seiichi comes to see him every day, sometimes dead and sometimes not, in a variety of manifestations. Sometimes he teases Akaya into arousal, only to leave him aching with want. Others, he shames Akaya for being selfish and stupid. More often than not, he’ll be despondent and melancholy, something he has never associated with Seiichi and doesn’t want to.

Here and there, however, Shuusuke will show up as well, just so Akaya can watch them fuck each other like there’s no one else in the world. Those are the times Akaya hates the least. While he can feel rage boiling in his gut while watching someone else’s hands on the taut planes of Seiichi’s body, this is ultimately what he has always wanted out of this arrangement. Seiichi is radiating bliss, and even if Akaya isn’t the one giving it to him, it’s no less than that he deserves.

And the days, the months, the years, the eons grind on with Seiichi goading him a little closer to madness every day. Consciousness is a nebulous and terrible thing to him now. Does he know what is real anymore? No. Does he want to? Also no.

Yet in the visceral ribbons of clarity he finds once in a while, he can almost swear he hears Seiichi crying out for him to stop hurting him, and that may be the worst facet of this costly arrangement as the devil and his demons take their due.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Well this is one of the weirdest damn things I've ever written. It is definitely not my cup of tea because I'm a fluff monster at heart, but I hope you found some enjoyment in this, Damien!


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